The dispirited writer

Everybody has talent. Even the most untalented of people have something that they're good at. The most boring accountant or actuary you've ever met probably plays a mean bass guitar. If you find that you're truly talentless, then you haven't looked hard enough and need to try again.

For me, I love writing. I really do. And judging from the response to this blog and The Sweetest Taboo, I'm pretty good at it too.

The problem:
I'm lazy and insecure.

Oftentimes, I lack discipline and focus. I can be like an ADHD child on speed. My minds skips to seventeen different places. I can't commit to one thing. I need help focusing. Otherwis, I'm liable to walk off into unpublished author oblivion.

The problem is not that I don't want it. I do. I've wanted to do this since I was 18. I'm 27 now and life has gotten in the way of my illustrious writing career. I've read many, many, MANY times that unless you're Nora or JAK, making it in publishing, especially mass market fiction, especially romantic literature, you don't make money.

My solution was a fall back career. I went to school. Got my Bachelor's. Went back to school for my Master's. Took another test and got licensed in my chosen profession. So, now I'm sitting pretty for someone my age with no children. And no husband. And no boyfriend. And no life.

And I still can't find the time to devote to my writing.

I wish I were really brave and could just say 'Fuck it' and leave it all behind. I could live in a carboard box with only my laptop which I hide beneath my tattered tweed jacket. I would spend my days in the library. Working on my novels. Creating sexy and funny stories that I will one day sell to the masses in mass market fiction.

In actuality, even if I were to chuck it all, I'd probably be at the library, as I am right now, surfing the internet, as I am doing right now. Because I lack discipline.

Shit! The whole 'lazy' thing just never goes away!

I'm also insecure.

I think most artists are.

I want people to like me, to like my work, to lavish adulation upon me to feed the black hole that once was my self-esteem. Well, maybe more of a brown hole or a closed door with light shing from beneath the door and around the frame.

At times, I'm crippled by fear. But that just feeds my desire to do better.

So why don't I devote more time to my crafy? Is it just laziness? Am I not a good writer despite all the evidence to the contrary? Do I want it but just not enough?

What keeps people from following their dreams?

Because misery LOVES company

I'm miserable. I have Strep throat. And I'm surfing the internet aimlessly. Here's what I've found...









This ladies and ladies (I don't know that very many men come round these parts) is what I've said before about big girls who dress inapporpriately. There is no reason on God's green earth that this woman should be out in this outfit. I admire it when we big girls have confidence, but come on!

And to show that it ain't just big girls...


Photos courtesy of Hot Ghetto Mess

Election Day

And as always, it's bittersweet. Here in the fine state of Colorado, in one day the democrats have wrested control of the state from the hands of the evil republicans. In the same breath we also banned gay marriage and domestic partnership.

A bit of a paradox? Yup.

But you can't get everything you want. Our only hope is to storm the House and the Senate!

However, as a democrat myself (as if y'all couldn't tell), I say that our victories are not so much a big vote of confidence in the party but more of a slap in the face to President Bush.

Our country is ready for a change, we're tired of the way we're being run into the ground. We want our troops to come home safely. We want reform and bipartisan cooperation.

Was that made clear enough tonight?

Now, personally, I consider myself a moderate liberal. I have some very liberal views and I have some moderate views, not so many conservative views (obviously!). I love this country and I wouldn't want to live anywhere else on a bet. I want to see a return to taking care of our own country. To work on our problems with poverty and homelessness and lack of healthcare. If we aren't healthy ourselves, how can we then be an example that other nations WANT to follow?

Can you tell I'm a Social Worker?

I'm very frightened of those on any extreme, any fanatic. The crazy liberals and the crazy conservatives. I can't hang with people who speak in absolutes but leave no room for possibilities. If our country is to be united, it will have to be under a moderate flag. One that leaves room for broader knowledge and possibilities.

A big you go girl to Nancy Pelosi.

OBAMA 2008!

Love Affair

I fell in love with romance when I was very young. I think I was 12 or 13. No, wait, I was 11. I read 'Gone With The Wind' in 3 days. Hey, 1100 pages is a pretty big feat when you're 11. To this day, it remains my favorite book. I highly recommend it, it's WAY better than the movie.

Anyhoo, the point is that people never really get over your first love. I sure haven't. I must have read thousands of romance novels. I started with HQ Temptation and Desire. No HQ Presents for me. I went straight to the 'hardcore.' Story of my life. My favorite writers of the time were Barbara Delinsky, Ruth Jean Dale, Kate Hoffmann, and Olivia Rupprecht. (Sidebar: Hurts So Good is a Loveswept that is totally fucking awesome!) As I matured so did my taste. I went from serials to single titles. Here, I discovered Nora and Jayne. Then, as my mind was in its formative years, I discovered historicals and they totally blew my mind. Linda Lael Miller and Susan Johnson. These books were dirty. And graphic. And wonderful. Not just because of the sex although I do have to say that as a hormone riddled teen, the sex was definitely an added bonus.

But more than that I love the fact that there is always a happy ending. I love happy endings. (In books, smartasses. I am NOT a masseuse.) I enjoyed, and still enjoy, couples overcoming adversity and pain and finding something good and true at the end. This was especially important to me because my life had never been a particularly happy one. I was a shy, socially isolated teenager. For me, there was always tunnel and no light. In romance novels, the hero and heroine always managed to find that light. It gave me hope. It helped me to think that maybe, just maybe, I could have that same happiness. That the suffering I was going through could make me stronger.

That's why I write romance. For me, it was a lifeline. I hope that in someday, my words will someday give that same hope and happiness to another person. That's why I write romance. That's my great love affair.

And even after all these years, the sex still ain't bad.

The magic has gone

So, I'm in a bit of a funk. I'm not reading. I'm not writing. I'm not dating. I'm not doing much of anything at the moment. I'm a bit apathetic at the moment.

But oddly enough, I do care about the fact that I don't care.

Why?

I couldn't tell ya. Maybe it has something to do with the change of time or the phase of the moon or the fact that there's nothing happening in my life right now. I feel a bit stagnant and I have no idea how to create something exciting.

How do I know that I'm in a rut?

Here is a typical phone conversation with me.

You: Hey! How's it going?
Me: Good. And you?
You: Great. What's going on with you.
Me: Nothing much as usual. Just working...and working.
You: Are you dating anyone?
(strained silence)
Me: Not in the past like ten years.
(awkward silence)
You: Oh, well. I'm sure something will come along soon.
Me (defensively): What? Is that your way of saying that I need to get laid?
You (timidly): No, I'm just saying you're a great girl and I'm sure that something will come along soon.
Me: You saying that I'm a great girl is like saying I have a great personality. Why don't you just advertise that I'm a fat, lonely girl. Why don't we get one of those sandwhich boards that you see those idiots on corners wearing and parade me up and down the 16th Street Mall. The sign can say 'I'm a great girl with a good personality.' For a little bit of irony let's add 'And I'm not at all desperate. Here's my phone number 303-123-4567.'
You: Well, I've got to go.
Me: Fine. Leave me to wonder where my life is going. Leave me in a nihilistic hell. I'm only going through an existential crisis but don't let me disturb you life.
You: Lunch tomorrow?
Me: See you at 1.
You: Later.
Me: Later.

Well, most of that is true (y'all can guess which parts).

You know what is going through my mind? 'The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again each time expecting a different result.'

That's what contributing to my rut. I do the same thing every day. I talk to the same people. I visit the same websites. I watch the same shows.

I need change. I need excitement.

I need a life.

*SIGH*

The magic has gone.

And in other news, one person who's not on crisis? John Mayer. He's actually funny. Check it out.

Hell anyone?

Let's go together. I'm on my way there right now. My handbasket should be here to pick me up at any moment.

I just finished watching 'Nip/Tuck' (one of the best shows on television btw) and there was a little person who has a significant part on the show. And being the curious person that I am, I got to thinking. What do I really know about little people?

A whole lot of nothing.

I do know that there are many forms of dwarfism. I do watch 'Little People Big World' afterall.

And it seems to me that Peter Dinklage who stars in the show, has one of the more 'lucky' forms. It also seems to me that Dinklage is a really funny name for a little person.

And that my friends is reason number one for going to hell.

As I continue to think, I wonder, in the way many normal people would, what his package would look like. I have heard that little people have normal heads and torsos but short arms and legs. That being said, he could, this little man, have a penis that hung halfway down his leg thereby giving the impression of some serious meat. I mean, there's no reason to believe that God would be so cruel as to give little men little pee pees (because let's face it, small penises are called pee pees).

Being a woman, I can honestly say that I would be let's say a bit put off if I got into bed with a man with a penis the size of a 9 year old. But then again, if I were to go to bed with a little person, I may have less than high expectations. I would be pleasantly surprised, however, if said person were hung like a horse, or at least looked the part. If a little person had a normal sized dick, it would look bigger than it actually was. It's a matter of perspective. Bigger objects seem smaller farther away and vice versa.

Ooops, my handbasket is here.

If I ruled the world...

I have a t-shirt that says 'Everyone is entitled to my opinion.' People look at it and laugh, probably wondering why an adult has a shirt with Tweety Bird on the front. Little do they know that the shirt tells people in explicit terms what my personal philosphy is.

The world would be a much better place if everyone would just do what I said. My world would be one based on common sense, common decency, and equality.

Now, don't get me wrong, I'm NOT a megalomaniac (much!). The world doesn't have to elect me as empress or give me huge amounts of money or even lavish praises upon me. They just have to listen to me and do what I say.

I'm a reasonable person. I wouldn't order people to walk off bridges. And although I'd be tempted to demand Colin Farrell as payment for my services, I'd refrain from indulging in my more base insticnts. I'd sit around on silken pillows, a Black Buddha. People from around the world would come and gather before me, patiently awaiting the pearls of wisdom that drop from my full, lush lips. (If this scene is in anyway reminiscent of the Princess Leia and Jabba the Hut, please keep that to yourself.)

So, you may be intrigued and ask yourself (or me)...

How would this world be different?

Well, here are just a few ways in which the world would change...

1. People would be free to marry whomever they choose. Now, please don't misunderstand, there are certain caveats to this satement. Such as people COULD NOT marry their siblings, children, cousins, aunts, uncles, or any combination therein. They COULD NOT marry animals. Now what Petey and Ole Bessie choose to do within the privacy of their barn is between them and God.

2. Everyone would be middle class. There would be an even distribution of monetary resources. Educators and Social Workers (such as myself) and Sanitary Engineers would be afforded the respect and remuneration that they so greatly deserve. No poverty or homelessnes would exist. I know that this sounds a bit socialist and I know that the US is a Free Market Economy, so I don't want to begrudge our entrenprenuers, so if people are able to become rich, there would be a requirement that businesses be socially responsible.

3. There would be National Healthcare. Enough said.

4. Quality education for all members of our society. Now, I'm not suggesting that everyone HAS TO go to college, but that there is an equal OPPORTUNITY to go to college. In my world, people choose not to attend college not because they're not prepared academically or technologically, or financially, but because they truly choose not to do so.

And THAT'S my world.

I HATE Celebrities

I do. Well, most of them. Almost all of them. Now, I don't know these people personally, so I don't really hate them, just the idea of them in general. I hate that we've become a society that reveres them and obsesses about them. Myself included. (So there is a bit of self-loathing there.)

But as you may have read in a previous post, I'm more fascinated when bad things happen to them.

Is it jealousy? Of course that's a part of it. Who wouldn't have a little pang that these people get paid an inordinate amount of money for basically doing what we all can do? Not to say that many celebrities aren't talented because they are, most of them. But let's face it, it's possible that anyone could be an actor but how many people can be astrophysicists? I'm just saying.

However, I have a real problem with the way in which our society treat them and agrandizes them, as if they were somehow inherently worthy of such adoration for simply being famous. When in actuality the chance of being famous depends mainly on luck. The country is filled to the brim with talented actors and singers and dancers and blah blah blah. But they're not famous and 95% of them never will be. And the ones that are really are no different than anyone else on the street.

So why is it that we're a nation obsessed with celebrity? We love to love them and we love to hate them. We enjoy builiding them up until they're on a pedastal and then we enjoy tearing them down to the ground with almost cannibalistic pleasure. It happens all the time. Just look st the recent press on Madonna.

Now me, I've never even written a fan letter. I don't buy celebrity magazines or fashion magazines or even tabloids. Or any magazine in general. I don't see the point in wasting my money or time. I don't watch ET or Access Hollywood or The Insider. Same reason.

Now, I wish I can say that I don't watch television in general, but then I'd be lying. I watch more than my fair share of television. I'm obsessed with it. And movies. And music. I like to be entertained. But I don't mistake that the characters that I so enjoy on television are in any way representative of the actors that portray them. I don't think that famous people are special just because they're famous. I respect and admire their talent but there's a woman in my church choir with a voice that puts Whitney Houston to shame. And that puts things in perspective for me. I like people more than I like celebrities.

I don't know that everyone has that same perspective.

Case in point. Princess Diana and Mother Teresa both died within a relatively close proximity to one another. And yet, who's death garnered more attention? Who's funeral was broadcast in its entirety on two continents? Not Mother Teresa. Both women were known for their generosity and kindness (although I think that living with lepers for 40+ years takes a bit more precedent over 'visiting' orphanages, but again, that's just me).

Who am I to say that Mother Teresa's death was more important than Priness Diana's or that Mother Teresa was a better person than Diana?

I can't.

And neither should anyone else.

Madonna's Maladies

Okay...

Is it just me or is anyone else pissed off at this whole Madonna-Malawian baby boy thing? What I'm having a problem with is why the media is giving her such a hard time for adopting that baby. Angelina Jolie can walk her happy ass into Cambodia or whatever African nation that she adopted Zahara from and the whole world talks about what a good deed that she is doing and how she's such an amazing parent full of love. The bitch wore a vial of Billy Bob's blood around her neck for heaven's sake! Not to mention the fact that she's a homewrecking slut. (Sorry to sound so harsh but I really, really, really have a problem with infidelity. Another topic, another blog.)

Yet, Madonna, who's only real issue is the fact that she had a bit of a checkered past and that unfortunate decision to have a gold tooth during her 'Erotica' years. Oh, and the fact that she banged Vanilla Ice. And Big Daddy Kane. At the same time, apparently. Which reminds me I never did get a gander at that 'Sex' book so if anyone happens to have a copy of that, hit me back.

One of the major arguments that I hear is that if Madonna really wanted to help the little boy, she would provide money to his family and his village. 'He has a father. Help the father to raise the boy." What a load of shit! Everyday here in the United States people adopt children who have living families. Mothers, fathers, grandparents. When a wealthy couple is looking to adopt, we don't tell them that they should just help the parents financially. No, we let them buy that kid.

Another argument is that Madonna didn't follow the laws of Malawi. Well, duh! When was the last time a celebrity had to follow the law? They get special treatment. The more money you have, the more doors are open to you. It's a sad but true fact of the world. Again, I point to Angelina. She was in and out of Zimbabwe with Zahara before anyone could say 'boo.'

Give me a fucking break!

What's up with me?

I haven't posted in a week. What have I been up to?

The answer: a big fat nothing.

I've been making snail progress editing my finished ms. 'Working' on two new projects. And trying to work on my blog story. All with limited success.

The problem: the internet. It's a horrible, horrible thing. I get lost in it for hours upon hours. And the bad part is that I don't do anything all that interesting. I surf the same spots, read the same blogs, read the same e-mails. I think I could do more if I had a faster connection, but I'm working on dial-up. It's free so I don't complain. Much.

So, here I am, 11 at night and instead of working, I'm surfing, trying to think if anything interesting happened in the past week.

It hasn't.

I'm actually a really boring person with a really boring life. I'm a watcher not a doer. I watch entirely too much television (it's on right now. I'm watching a documentary about Wal-Mart, an entirely different conversation) and spend entirely too much time with my family. Why do I do it? I'm young, I'm in the prime of my life, I'm single. Toxically single (a whole other issue).

It's all very sad. Pity me.

What I do have are a sharp tongue and a keen intellect. My powers can be used for good or evil. Lately, they've been doing more evil than good. But, I'm always funny. Well, mostly funny.

I like that about myself. I like the unique perspective that I have on the world. Once, I was considering writing a book full of my opinions. It was going to be semi-autobiographical. It was titled 'Confessions of an Unknown Fat Girl: or Everyone is entitled to my opinion.'

Writer's are generally observers of the world. We see, we interpret, we skew to our own POV. Hey, we're fiction writers, not reporters. At least not the CNN kind, maybe more in the realm of Fox News. But way better. At least we can be believeable.

Ciao bellas

Deja Vu All Over Again

First some funny:
I was reading a book today at BN. Luckily I didn't buy it because it contained the following phrases:

"He buried his face in her muff." EWWW! That's just wrong on so many levels. Muff has not been used since 70's porn. Actually, it was even tacky in "Debbie Does Dallas." I have a few suggestions. Try beaver. Or the always classy hairy clam. Yeah, those work.

Also in the book: "He drank down her girl juice." I am so not even touching that one.

I'm all for 'purple prose' as we call it in the industry. There are only so many ways that one can describe the fluids that accompany the orgasm, but the thought of calling it 'girl juice.' I'm just saying.

Next:

I have one big fear. Actually I have a lot of fears but for the sake of brevity, I'll talk about my big fear of the day.

My fear: becoming my mother.

I can see it happen. Literally. I see some of the gestures that I do and I think 'Oh, shit! That's my mom! That's her. I can feel her start to possess my body. That's not my hand." All of a sudden I have to stop everything I'm doing and run to the mirror. I half expect to see my mother reflected there. You know, kind of like Bloody Mary, only WAY scarier.

Don't get me wrong. I love my Mama. It's just...well, she's crazy. And not in the she's a bit eccentric wearing her panties on her head sort of way. But in the Psycho, I-will-cut-you-bitch, kind of way.

Seriously.

She's going through menopause, but that's only exacerbated an already existing condition.

Growing up, my siblings and I would pray that when we got in trouble, our dad would be the one to whup us because once our mom got a hold of us we'd be lucky to sit down at the end. When my mom used to whup us, it would be in time to her word. I-thought-I-told-you-to-clean-up-your-room. Each word accentuated by a smack. Or there was the switch. Does anybody else the switch? My parents would make us go outside and strip one off the tree. Then...well you know the rest.

So you can see that why turning into my mother is a frightening proposition.

FOOD FOR THOUGHT:

I saw a bumper sticker today. WWLDD. So, naturally I thought of the popular WWJD (What would Jesus do?). And I came to the conclusion: What would Lucifer Do Differently?

What can I say, I'm evil.

How would you interpret it?

A BLOW to the EGO

It may surprise many people to know that I don't have that many friends. At least according to MySpace. I have about 40. And I think ten of them are celebrities or bands or some random person. So needless to say that it always gets me excited to log on to MySpace and see that I have a friends request.

And that's exactly what happened tonite. Imagine the scene...a lonely young woman sitting in front of her computer. She longs for some acceptance. After all it is a Friday night. And she is dateless once again. Truthfully, she's only two glasses and a pair of sensible shoes away from playing for the other team. But she has hope. So in an effort to relieve the crushing loneliness in her chest that threatens to turn her soul into an immense black chasm of emptiness.

Well, maybe not quite that dire.

More like the fear of becoming like that creepy old lady who lives in that big house on the corner, her yard overgrown hiding all manner of creature including her seventeen cats and twelve dogs. The entire visage so frightening that little children dare each other to walk past and then end up running past, screaming 'She's sucking out my soul.'

Wait. I hate cats. That was way worse. I'll take the black chasm and sunken chest please.

Back to the story. She's checking her MySpace account when Lo and Behold, she has a freinds request. She could feel the heart begin pound in her chest. Fingers shaking, she clicks on the bright blue word. There he is. John, her mind sighs. could this be him? Could it be that easy? She takes a minute to daydream. This could make a very cute and funny story to tell their grandchildren. How Granddad 'found' Nana in a sea of profiles, choosing her above all. Again she moves the cursor. Click. Her breath stops in her throat. Faster, dammit, faster, show me my destiny.

There. There he is. John. 40 years old. United Kingdom. Okay, that could be a problem. Not too unmanageable. Intrigues she scrolls down the page. It looks a little off. There's something that she can't put her finger on.

Then she sees it.

Thunk. The sound of her heart dipping into her stomach like a boulder. The words blur as the tears fill her vision. It's over. All before it even began. It was the last thing she'd ever expected.

An advertisement for how to make money money using the internet.

Using her sleeve, she wipes her eyes. No more crying. Suck it up and go to bed. Your cold lonely bed.

Awww.

It wasn't quite that involved. I don't think I'd named our grandkids. Just our firstborn. And his sister. Maybe their baby brother as well.

Aw, well. There's always the next random loser that sends you a request to be his friends.

Maybe next time, it'll be an advertisement for Natural Male Enhancement.

Random Ranting

As my loyal readers may already know by now, I'm an asshole with an opinion. I have one for everything. Even those things that I know nothing about. Especially those things that I know nothing about. I go off half-cocked and make outrageous statements that may or may not be correct. But I do it with conviction. I have a lot of that. I have conviction. Which is a good thing but can also hurt me because I tend to see things in terms of black and white, right or wrong.

An example: Infidelity. I think it's just plain wrong. There is never any justification for it. Period. I don't find it romantic, I don't see the participants as tortured souls. THERE WAS NOTHING ROMANTIC ABOUT GUINEVERE AND LANCELOT. They betrayed her husband, their friend, and their king. And for what? The kingdom fell and Guinevere ended up living out her days in a convent. With no sex. Ever. Unless the nuns were doing things that I don't want to know.

But this was so not what I wanted to say tonight. I did have a point to this rant.

WARNING THE FOLLOWING CONTAINS CONTENT THAT MAY BE OFFENSIVE.

It all began with shoes.

I hate the mall. I HATE the MALL. I LOATHE THE MALL. I also hate shopping in general So imagine my surprise when I found myself wandering the esteemed halls of K-Mart. I didn't have any agenda. I was just kind of loafing around with nothing to do on a Saturday night (pathetic but true). So my good friend Julie calls me and we decide to go to a shoe store because we both decided that we needed to buy shoes. And pants. Well, I needed pants. I'm not sure about her. She may have needed pants.

So, we're in the store looking for shoes. And I'm pointing to a pair of chunky-soled something or others and I ask Julie, "What do you think?" "Fine. If you're a lesbian," came her ready reply. Needless to say, I don't buy the shoes but I do leave the store with a nice pair of New Balance sneaks.

Fast forward to the next day. I'm at Payless, my normal shoe mecca, looking again for a nice pair of black shoes suitable for work. And all the shoes that I find are nice, sensible shoes. Lesbian shoes, according to my friend Julie. So I call her and I leave her the following message, 'Hey Julie. I think I'm a lesbian. I like sensible shoes.'

And I did. But I didn't want to buy them.

Now, before anyone jumps down my throat for making crass generalizations, I do now have justification. I was watching an episode of 'The L Word' in which all of the main lesbian characters are on a quest to find out if another woman is a lesbian or not. Their two main tells: The woman's nails and her shoes.

So apparently even lesbians have a dress code. And it starts with the shoes. I guess clothes do make the man, or the lesbian for that matter.

What about you? What would your clothes tell the average people watcher about you?

Football Freak

I love football. No, I adore football. If football were a real man, I'd be his love slave and allow him unfettered access to my body. THAT'S how much I love football. Most days, football loves me back.

Fantasy football, however, hates me with a passion. For the second year in a row, I am LAST in my fantasy football league. I am a laughingstock. People now stop and point at me on the street and whisper behind my back that my team, Moe's Joes, are now 0-4. They shake their heads in shame as they ask what kind of football fan am I.

A very sad one.

Now, some women who read this may be asking themselves how another of their kindred can be so devoted to such a violent and immature game. To them I say, have you ever taken the time to WATCH a game. To see modern-day warriors take the field in a battle of wits, skill, and brawn is truly an almost holy experience.

Plus they wear really tight pants and most times have great asses.

For me, I think that football is an outlet for all of my pent-up aggression. Since I can't necessarily go around tackling all the people that get on my nerves (mostly because I'd never even have time sleep) I have to get my jollies some way.

What about you? How do you release frustration?

My Blurb

So this is the blurb that my good friend Jaye wrote about my blog...

"Random Acts of Randomness lives up to its title. You never know what subject CreativityVacuum will take on next. But you always know her unique perspective on the issue will be funny. The hot sex scenes are just a bonus."

YEAH!!!! She hit it right on the head. At least SOMEONE sees the humor that I try to spread in the world. And hot sex is never a bonus. It's a necessity, ladies. Am I right? You know I'm right.

Ciao Bella

ANNOUNCING...

The winner of the 'Name My Book' Contest is....(drumroll please)

Nicole and 'Chasing Riki.'

CONGRATUALTIONS!!!!!!

This was a very hard decision. You all had some VERY GOOD entries. In the end, Nicole's title just seemed to click.

But I have to say that it was a close race with Ljay and 'Mister Opportunity' running a close second. This title alone has sparked an idea for yet another book. And for this, I have decided to offer a prize for runner up which is some very luscious Godiva chocolates.

Thanks to everyone that participated. You guys were awesome. Thanks again for visiting my blog and I hope that y'all will continue to read and enjoy my admitted craziness.

To Nicole and Ljay, y'all can claim your prizes by e-mailing your addresses to me at CreativityVacuum@gmail.com

Later Gators

Evil Bitch Whores

It's time that I introduced the world to a group of women that I call the EBW- Evil Bitch Whores. Now, this is a special category reserved for a certain type of woman.

Please don't misunderstand. I'm not a misongynist. Some of my best friends are women. But as with everything there are the proverbial 'bad apples.' Or immensely evil crazy bitches. Both men and women.

Evil Bitch Whores are women who amplify everything that is wrong with the world. They're narcissistic. They prey on the misery of others. They create misery in other people's lives. The worse part is that they somehow always come out smelling like roses. It's never that they did anything wrong. It's always turned back on you. Other people like them. There are moments of normality. But they can turn just as quickly. Cross her and she will make it her life's mission to make sure that you pay.

They do it with a smile on their faces and a knife behind their back or in yours.

Don't get me wrong. I don't want to be too gloom and doom, They're not always the Devil Incarnate. They can be arrogant, self-agrandizing, sanctimonious, self-involved, patronizing, or just plain stupid.

And because I consider myself an evil bitch- not to be confused with an Evil Bitch Whore- I'm also a bit petty. So, I include those women (and men) that I simply don't like.

Now, I have my own list of EBWs. There is even a Queen of the EBWs-well more of a shared title. I will reveal my Queens but I must warn you that there will be an outcry the likes of which the earth has never seen. So when you read the next sentence please keep your scream to that of a low roar.

The Queens of the Evil Bitch Whores are: Martha Stewart and Oprah Winfrey. I cannot stand these women. Martha for the obvious reasons. But Oprah you may ask. Why Oprah? Well, the simple answer is that I hate her. I can't stand her. I am the first to admit that she has done a lot for a lot of people. She is an incredible philanthropist. She is also incredibly fake. I think she is out of touch with the common person. She is sanctimonious and presumptuous and thinks her shit doesn't stink. That's just my opinion. I don't actually know her but I'm sure that I don't want to either.

There are also EBWs that don't reach the status of Queen. Mine are too numerous and my time limited.

Okay. So what brought about this discussion?

I'm watching Larry King Live with Dr. Laura Schlessinger. This bitch is out of her fucking mind. I literally cannot believe the steaming, heaping piles of shit that come out of her mouth. She basically said that women belong in the home, raising her children, and catering to her husband's every whim, sexually and otherwise. They shouldn't work outside the home, they should be self-sacrificing drones, and be happy about it.

Don't get me wrong. I am all for women being good mothers and wives. But I think the way that this is defined is different for everyone. If you want to work outside the home and need to put your child in daycare, that DOES NOT make you a bad mother.

But Dr. Bitch would tell you differently. She would tell you that you need to be at home raising your children, cooking their meals, and screwing your husband blind. Women are to be submissive towards their husbands.

But Dr. Laura, I'm a single mother. What do I do? Dr. Laura says that you need should move in with your parents and only work at night. Simple really.

Premarital sex? Never!

Women should act like 'unpaid whores.' But only for their husbands. Direct quote. Lay back and open your legs, ladies! Not in the mood? You will be. Just let him rut on top of you for a few minutes and eventually you'll have an orgasm.

But what if I'm not happy, not fulfilled? You should get the joy in your life from taking care of your family and catering to your husband. How could you not be happy?

She has now made the Queen of the Evil Bitch Whores a triumvate.

If you had a league of EBWs, who would make the cut?

CONTEST UPDATE

So, I decided that if this were to be a real contest I should at least offer a prize. And that's what I've decided to do. The winner of the 'NAME MY BOOK' contest will receive a $25 gift certificate for the book store of your choice. To sweeten the pot I'll even throw in some Godiva Chocolates. Contest restarts today and ends 9/30/06.

Good luck Peeps!

NAME MY BOOK CONTEST

So, I'm working and reworking and reworking my query letter when all of a suuden it occurred to me that I'm seeking representation for a book that has no name. So, I'm enlisting the help of my five loyal readers to help me find a name.

So here it goes...

Riki Watson’s life was…well, boring. But it was hers and if she wasn’t happy then at least she could be content. So when exactly did her orderly life turn upside down? In the space of twenty-four hours she learns that her best friend, a woman for whom the word hoochie seemed to have been invented, has become involved with their boss, a man that would make any Trekkie look like The Fonz hanging out at Arnold’s on a Saturday night with two hot chicks on his arm. As if that weren’t bad enough, their sex life was apparently nothing short of Sexual Olympics. Added to these startlingly revelations is the fact that her entire family believes her to be gay. Well, sure she hadn’t had a date since Bush the First was in office but that had more to do with lack of opportunity than lack of desire. It was definitely not lack of desire.

A chance meeting in a bookstore brings Marsh Evans into her life. Riki knows from that moment that her life would never be the same. He was everything that Riki could ever want and nothing she believed she could have. Riki doesn’t believe that they have anything in common. Even if she disregarded the fact that he was White and she was of mixed heritage, there was still the fact that Marsh was drop-dead gorgeous and she was well…not. However, these obstacles don’t seem to stop Marsh in his pursuit of Riki despite her attempts to put distance between them. Eventually, Riki has no choice but to give in to the incredible desire between them.

There's more to the story but that's a general sketch. So people...

NAME MY BOOK!!!

And speaking of Jaye...

I was IMing my friend Jaye tonight and like always I enjoyed our 'conversation.' But it did get me to thinking. A dangerous occupation to be sure but one in which I engage in with startling regularity. Anyhoo, my good friend, who is also a romance writer and although I've not read her stuff her blog is enough to convince me that she's nothing short of brilliant (Please note that these comments are solely the opinion of this writer and were not in any way solicited or paid for by Jaye) and I were discussing telling people what we do now as our avocation although we hope to soon make it our vocation. And we both agreed that we're a little, shall we say hesitant, to tell people that we write romance.

Now, I know that I've written about this before and I've said that I'm proud to tell people that I write romance. And I am...after a bit of hesitation. And under the right circumstances. And to the right people. But the fact that I hesitate seriously pisses me off. Why should I hesitate? To be honest I think that it has a lot to do with the perception that what I do is somehow less than honorable or worthwhile.

And that's the problem. Our society has a grudge against not only romance but also 'popular fiction.' Which is somehow different than 'literary fiction.' Jaye described it as the difference between a huge Hoolywood blockbuster and a critically-acclaimed indie flick. And to all this I say...bullshit! There is nothing wrong with commercial success. Nothing wrong with bringing a good story with a happy ending to the public. Nothing wrong with a bit of brain candy. And by implying that writers of 'popular fiction' are somehow less talented that those that write the other crap sounds like a whole lot of jealousy to me.

And really how does one distinguish 'literary from 'popular' fiction? I know it's not the level of telent. So what makes it 'better'? I wish I knew, But I do know that those who write that type of fiction look down their snooty little noses at us lesser peons. But they can kiss my ass. I'm having way more fun.

Hasta Luego